Kate Rothwell's Blog, page 21
May 2, 2012
Service Professionals
More promo and then I think we can all agree that we have better things to do. Today's assignment: tell us about your life working in restaurants. We will nod and say, wow, yeah and give a sympathetic wince, because, dude, that work is HARD.
Which is more fake: the clean towel or the wine?
We're over at Carina talking about our short unglorious careers as waitresses--although I guess my few years working in a bar wasn't bad at all. I miss that life occasionally. Or maybe I miss the part of me that could keep chugging along in that sort of life with happy feet at the end of the night.
I've been reading Charlaine Harris lately and Sookie keeps talking about how she's looked down upon by various people because she's a waitress. I never felt that when I was a waitress, but then again, I couldn't read the patrons' minds.
Which is more fake: the clean towel or the wine?
We're over at Carina talking about our short unglorious careers as waitresses--although I guess my few years working in a bar wasn't bad at all. I miss that life occasionally. Or maybe I miss the part of me that could keep chugging along in that sort of life with happy feet at the end of the night.
I've been reading Charlaine Harris lately and Sookie keeps talking about how she's looked down upon by various people because she's a waitress. I never felt that when I was a waitress, but then again, I couldn't read the patrons' minds.
April 30, 2012
so much to do today
Yes, yes, it's all promo. But really, this is a new book release day so I can't be blamed, dudes. Plus this is a release day with bells and whistles. What do I mean?
First up:
1. Here's an audiobook! Yes, an AUDIOBOOK. Read by someone named Angele Masters who is a freaking professional. She's good, too.
Serious Play/out Today/it's not Gay
I listened to the sample and it happened to land in a chapter that I mostly wrote** (Bonnie and I alternate chunks of the book, usually chapters, and then add words and whatnot to each other's chunk).
It's the first time in a long time I've heard one of my books read by someone who wasn't me (ick, unbearable) or the robotic voice of the computer (works for editing). I'd supposed I'd be embarrassed to hear my words read, but really it brought me back to old writing classes, the kind where the teacher reads the papers for the class. You look around, trying to see how everyone's taking in your stuff.
In other words, I'm getting school flash backs on top of the embarrassment.
Did I mention that Angele Masters is good?
Back to Release Day Promo. Item two
2. Dieselbooks is featuring us at 11 a.m. today. And you can get this very book for ONE DOLLAH! That is assuming you manage to be the first of the first ten buyers. So Go! Buy!
Item three:
3. We are going to be the featured m/m writers over at goodreads in May. That's cool. We lost the vote but apparently the runner up gets to be on the list too. Not really promo for our new release, but I like it and this is my blog. Deal.
Item four:
4. There really isn't an item four, I'm just amusing myself with this listing method that reminds me of yet another class I took where the teacher would read the syllabus and say it like that "Item three. Number three." If I come up with an item four, number four, I'll let you know.
_____
**Once I could bear listening to the whole thing, I realized that it's got a chunk by Bonnie too. Nice division of book excerpt.
First up:
1. Here's an audiobook! Yes, an AUDIOBOOK. Read by someone named Angele Masters who is a freaking professional. She's good, too.
Serious Play/out Today/it's not Gay
I listened to the sample and it happened to land in a chapter that I mostly wrote** (Bonnie and I alternate chunks of the book, usually chapters, and then add words and whatnot to each other's chunk).
It's the first time in a long time I've heard one of my books read by someone who wasn't me (ick, unbearable) or the robotic voice of the computer (works for editing). I'd supposed I'd be embarrassed to hear my words read, but really it brought me back to old writing classes, the kind where the teacher reads the papers for the class. You look around, trying to see how everyone's taking in your stuff.
In other words, I'm getting school flash backs on top of the embarrassment.
Did I mention that Angele Masters is good?
Back to Release Day Promo. Item two
2. Dieselbooks is featuring us at 11 a.m. today. And you can get this very book for ONE DOLLAH! That is assuming you manage to be the first of the first ten buyers. So Go! Buy!
Item three:
3. We are going to be the featured m/m writers over at goodreads in May. That's cool. We lost the vote but apparently the runner up gets to be on the list too. Not really promo for our new release, but I like it and this is my blog. Deal.
Item four:
4. There really isn't an item four, I'm just amusing myself with this listing method that reminds me of yet another class I took where the teacher would read the syllabus and say it like that "Item three. Number three." If I come up with an item four, number four, I'll let you know.
_____
**Once I could bear listening to the whole thing, I realized that it's got a chunk by Bonnie too. Nice division of book excerpt.
April 21, 2012
my synopsis handout from today
WRITE THAT SYNOPSIS
Check your target agent/publisher’s site and follow their
directions. They’re looking for reasons to reject you. Do they prefer a
mini-outline or a quick summary (e.g. back-cover copy with spoilers)?
EVERY SYNOPSIS SHOULD CONTAIN:
-
information about the plot, the core conflict and the characters’ GMC. (see
other sheet for definition)
- word count and genre (usually in first
sentence)
- The title, your name, and contact info on
every page.
COMMON ERRORS
- Too much emphasis on first 3 chapters. (An
editor says, “I can tell when it’s based on a partial. That’s fine for authors
I know and trust, but not for new authors.)
- Hit main points and avoid unnecessary detail. Ask yourself is this fact or scene necessary
to understand the characters or plot of my book?
BEFORE YOU SEND, SHOW
IT TO SOMEONE WHO HASN’T READ YOUR BOOK:
Ask your
- 25 words or so, what is this
story about?
- Can you describe the
characters’ GMC?
- Can you tell me about the core conflict?
Their answers will help you write cover copy and the tag-line
QUOTES FROM
EDITORS:
(Samhain, Harlequin, Harper-Collins,
Simon and Schuster, Kensington—and an agent)
Agent: Hates questions posed in synopses. State the facts
simply and straightforward. Save the “will he overcome his hatred of vampires?”
for the back cover copy.
Editor: If you ask questions, just be sure to answer them.
It’s not my favorite format but I’ll tolerate it.
Editor: In romance, the emphasis should be on the romance. I
want to see how the hero and heroine grow and change because of love and how
the external and internal conflicts are resolved.
Editor: Don't hide the ending or
leave me hanging--I don't want to be surprised… Don’t worry about your style,
just tell story. I don’t read them for style, just to find out if there’s
enough tension for an entire book.
Editor: I don’t like excerpts in
synopses instead of telling plot details. Seems like author can't be bothered. I also hate synopses that
switch from past to present tense.
Editor: get rid of subplots and
secondary characters’ names.
Editor: If you’re writing a romance, don’t forget the
development of the romance. It’s the core of the book. If you’re writing an
erotic novel, don’t forget to include what sort of sex they have and when.
Sometimes I see synopses of erotic novels and no sex is even mentioned, just
plot points—when the sex is supposed to be integral to the plot.
Remember the synopsis is your friend! You can nail plot
holes and weak conflict by crafting one. If you’re having too much trouble with
a synopsis, maybe there are deeper troubles with the book. Let your synopsis help
you become a better plotter.
For more help, check out:
Lisa Gardner: http://www.lisagardner.com/tricks/synopsis.htm
Bob Mayer (go watch him here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmF3Zr3L2tI
)
April 19, 2012
Guess which one I voted for?
oh, look. They left off my name as per usual.
Poll
Which book would you like to see selected for our New Author May Book of the Month group read?
Genre, Historical
OR
Theme, Dark
The Gentleman and the Rogue by Bonnie Dee
Kindred Hearts by Rowan Speedwell
Break and Enter by Rachel Haimowitz
Whistle Pass by KevaD
The Desire for Dearborne by V.B. Kildaire
comments and details
·
show results
·
invite friends
Poll
Which book would you like to see selected for our New Author May Book of the Month group read?
Genre, Historical
OR
Theme, Dark
The Gentleman and the Rogue by Bonnie Dee
Kindred Hearts by Rowan Speedwell
Break and Enter by Rachel Haimowitz
Whistle Pass by KevaD
The Desire for Dearborne by V.B. Kildaire
comments and details
·
show results
·
invite friends
April 15, 2012
Had it up to here, I mean it. Go do your job, people***
Honest to pete, you people don't follow directions any more. Go on over and read the tarred old same old, same old (an excerpt and an interview with me. You can win a book. You will win a book since no one else has tried. Linda doesn't count.) Comment enthusiastically, why don't you? Go on and then we'll call it a day. I promise not to do any more promo until the book comes out in . . . . a while. A couple of weeks.
Oh wait. Nagging isn't done yet.
Are you signed up to go hear me next weekend? I was asked (yes, you read that right. They asked me) to do a presentation at the Mark Twain house's Writer's Weekend. I drafted Toni Andrews to help because she's noisier than I am and does good talk. I do tangents, muttering, and wandering. She does loud and on topic. She and Mike have the habit, when interrupted, of ignoring the interruption and just plowing along. Good for a talk.
Speaking of tangents, let's get back to that interview you're supposed to look at. I added some of you to the mix. That list you made is the business. The five words are amazing and I have had fun walking around thinking of stories to match as many as possible. I've started writing again but not with any of those five words.
In other news, this morning I wandered off into the bowels of the internet past and remembered the huge kerfuffle about the cute costumed writers at RWA from a few years ago. That was when I had NORA goddamn ROBERTS comment on my blog. I'd link to it, but it has plenty of hits already. I still don't get how anyone could get offended by my fear. I was scared when I thought dressing up and presenting us with our writing was our future.
I was scared for me of course, and my fear has only grown. If I wanted to present me along with the writing, I would have been a broadcast broad and I definitely would have stopped aging.
UPDATE: Bugger. That 19th century Punch cartoon doesn't seem to be translating well. Here's a link so you can read the text.
Also I should point out that I lifted it from Cat's Meat Shop -- a great site!
_________
***UPDATED Yikes, no. I'm not really disgusted--I'm just being a goober. You don't owe me squat, okay? Good. Maybe I've had a rough day because for some reason, and I really don't understand how this happened. And DO NOT tell anyone. Anyway for some strange sub-conscious reason, last night I dreamed I was having sex with Bill O'Reilly. Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrghhhh.
Oh wait. Nagging isn't done yet.
Are you signed up to go hear me next weekend? I was asked (yes, you read that right. They asked me) to do a presentation at the Mark Twain house's Writer's Weekend. I drafted Toni Andrews to help because she's noisier than I am and does good talk. I do tangents, muttering, and wandering. She does loud and on topic. She and Mike have the habit, when interrupted, of ignoring the interruption and just plowing along. Good for a talk.
Speaking of tangents, let's get back to that interview you're supposed to look at. I added some of you to the mix. That list you made is the business. The five words are amazing and I have had fun walking around thinking of stories to match as many as possible. I've started writing again but not with any of those five words.
In other news, this morning I wandered off into the bowels of the internet past and remembered the huge kerfuffle about the cute costumed writers at RWA from a few years ago. That was when I had NORA goddamn ROBERTS comment on my blog. I'd link to it, but it has plenty of hits already. I still don't get how anyone could get offended by my fear. I was scared when I thought dressing up and presenting us with our writing was our future.I was scared for me of course, and my fear has only grown. If I wanted to present me along with the writing, I would have been a broadcast broad and I definitely would have stopped aging.
UPDATE: Bugger. That 19th century Punch cartoon doesn't seem to be translating well. Here's a link so you can read the text.
Also I should point out that I lifted it from Cat's Meat Shop -- a great site!
_________
***UPDATED Yikes, no. I'm not really disgusted--I'm just being a goober. You don't owe me squat, okay? Good. Maybe I've had a rough day because for some reason, and I really don't understand how this happened. And DO NOT tell anyone. Anyway for some strange sub-conscious reason, last night I dreamed I was having sex with Bill O'Reilly. Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrghhhh.
April 11, 2012
Alone Mary thoughts in the shower
First of all, go over and comment at Sugarbeat's blog because I wrote a short article there and am giving away a book. It's easy to get the book, seriously.
Done? Good.
Now explain to me why I haven't seen this treatment of It's A Wonderful Life--thesis of Mary Hatch** was probably better off without George Bailey.
Mary can actually see
I'm guessing alcohol--no valium back then
I mean really. Let's stop and look at the two Marys
The main difference, the thing that always has struck me, is that the Alone Mary didn't walk around in a haze of near-sightedness and drugs (actually the drugs are a recent elaboration. But I've wondered about the glasses for years).
Alone Mary had some time for herself and managed to get to the ophthalmologist. You can't convince me that even back then bad vision was thought to come on with sexual frustration and lack of kiddies. No. What happened was that Alone Mary had some goddamn time to take care of herself--not to mention she had time to read books. She had a career and didn't have to live with, and be dependent upon, a guy who was obviously losing his mind.
But Kate, you say, she's so much prettier with the husband and kids. Huh. Alone Mary didn't have to worry about conforming to a standard set by males. Alone Mary could dump the makeup and the clothes that are too damned thin for a wintery New England. She looks comfortable, doesn't she? And almost mannish. And she lives with women. Okay...let's go with this. Maybe she's paid attention to her true desires. Could it be that Mary is a lesbian? Living as far out of the closet as a woman could back then?
So that's what I was thinking about in the shower. Yeah, well, it made sense at the time. I forgot to take off my reading glasses (I keep them propped on my head) and got a surprise when I started to wash my hair. Glasses led to that old "Married Mary Needs Glasses (and to lay off the booze)" line of thought.
_____
**Yes I took the time to google her maiden name--if you don't use it for dumb little facts, the internet gets lonely. True fact.
Done? Good.
Now explain to me why I haven't seen this treatment of It's A Wonderful Life--thesis of Mary Hatch** was probably better off without George Bailey.
Mary can actually see
I'm guessing alcohol--no valium back then
I mean really. Let's stop and look at the two Marys
The main difference, the thing that always has struck me, is that the Alone Mary didn't walk around in a haze of near-sightedness and drugs (actually the drugs are a recent elaboration. But I've wondered about the glasses for years).
Alone Mary had some time for herself and managed to get to the ophthalmologist. You can't convince me that even back then bad vision was thought to come on with sexual frustration and lack of kiddies. No. What happened was that Alone Mary had some goddamn time to take care of herself--not to mention she had time to read books. She had a career and didn't have to live with, and be dependent upon, a guy who was obviously losing his mind.
But Kate, you say, she's so much prettier with the husband and kids. Huh. Alone Mary didn't have to worry about conforming to a standard set by males. Alone Mary could dump the makeup and the clothes that are too damned thin for a wintery New England. She looks comfortable, doesn't she? And almost mannish. And she lives with women. Okay...let's go with this. Maybe she's paid attention to her true desires. Could it be that Mary is a lesbian? Living as far out of the closet as a woman could back then?
So that's what I was thinking about in the shower. Yeah, well, it made sense at the time. I forgot to take off my reading glasses (I keep them propped on my head) and got a surprise when I started to wash my hair. Glasses led to that old "Married Mary Needs Glasses (and to lay off the booze)" line of thought.
_____
**Yes I took the time to google her maiden name--if you don't use it for dumb little facts, the internet gets lonely. True fact.
April 6, 2012
searching for company
Whenever I have an emotion that makes me uncomfortable, I immediately try to think of someone I know (or know of) who's experienced the same thing. Is that person okay? Or close enough? Good. Then I will be too.
I think that started when I was a kid and realized I was going to die. For some reason, the fact that James Thurber had died made me feel better. I think I figured if there was an afterlife, then maybe I'd get to meet him. (This was before I'd figured out he was a major misogynist) And if there wasn't, well, he'd gone through it then I could handle it too.
And when I was going to have a baby, I was terrified. Yup, nearly everyone has a moment when she realizes that this very HUGE THING is going to have to exit her body and it is going to hurt. A lot. Someone pointed out that all I had to do was figure out that many cowards have more than one baby. So obviously, if it was that terrible, people would only have one, right?
That worked.
But then when I'm uncomfortable about my writing, I don't have any examples to turn to. I'm not sure why that is. Because I keep trying pretend that it isn't important to me? Because I keep trying to redefine failure? Because I don't know anyone else I think of as reasonable who keeps trying long after the world tells them to give it up? Because I'm a masochist? Because I have no clue what else I can do?
So in this case, it's time to turn to the other method of dealing: avoidance. Yay for avoidance, because as our ancestors knew, it's fine to not talk about it.
I think the cure for this state of mind is also going out and actually doing a job. Since I am not finding work, I think maybe it's time to get back to the refugees. Yeppers. Not for their sake, poor refugees. Because when I get in this brain, it's all about me.
You do know a lot of the time my mind manages to leave the navel gazing behind, right? Because I sort of figure the blog is about promo but it's also about the me me me me thing. Turns out when you're of a certain age, you (and maybe I mean me) don't need as much of that me me me me thing, which is good because there's no one else to provide that intense reassurance and patting and rapt attention unless you're willing to pay good money for it from either a prostitute or therapist.
A blog is good enough--cheaper too.
I think that started when I was a kid and realized I was going to die. For some reason, the fact that James Thurber had died made me feel better. I think I figured if there was an afterlife, then maybe I'd get to meet him. (This was before I'd figured out he was a major misogynist) And if there wasn't, well, he'd gone through it then I could handle it too.
And when I was going to have a baby, I was terrified. Yup, nearly everyone has a moment when she realizes that this very HUGE THING is going to have to exit her body and it is going to hurt. A lot. Someone pointed out that all I had to do was figure out that many cowards have more than one baby. So obviously, if it was that terrible, people would only have one, right?
That worked.
But then when I'm uncomfortable about my writing, I don't have any examples to turn to. I'm not sure why that is. Because I keep trying pretend that it isn't important to me? Because I keep trying to redefine failure? Because I don't know anyone else I think of as reasonable who keeps trying long after the world tells them to give it up? Because I'm a masochist? Because I have no clue what else I can do?
So in this case, it's time to turn to the other method of dealing: avoidance. Yay for avoidance, because as our ancestors knew, it's fine to not talk about it.
I think the cure for this state of mind is also going out and actually doing a job. Since I am not finding work, I think maybe it's time to get back to the refugees. Yeppers. Not for their sake, poor refugees. Because when I get in this brain, it's all about me.
You do know a lot of the time my mind manages to leave the navel gazing behind, right? Because I sort of figure the blog is about promo but it's also about the me me me me thing. Turns out when you're of a certain age, you (and maybe I mean me) don't need as much of that me me me me thing, which is good because there's no one else to provide that intense reassurance and patting and rapt attention unless you're willing to pay good money for it from either a prostitute or therapist.
A blog is good enough--cheaper too.
April 5, 2012
Stuff. Also! A not-so-new title!
I went into a major Sookie Stackhouse reread over the last couple of days. Now I have her voice in my head. You-all.
I'm not sure why I wanted to reread. I like the books but don't love them. They're just what I want though. I'm about to run out of them and am feeling slightly panicky. Need more Sookie!
Flo hates the cover. She has a point.
I'm reading because I can't seem to write. I open a document, glance through it, and then forget I'm supposed to be adding more at the end, or in the middle or wherever. Spring fever, I suppose.
But never mind me. This is about you, now, and your chance to read a novella, because hey, listen! I have a newish book out. Actually it's just a historical novella and it's been out for a while, but I put it up on Amazon. I figured out that I'm allowed to, I think (it's been used as a fundraiser at ARe).
So here it is! Yep, as Flo said, it's a tad difficult to figure out what's going on with the cover. But I sorta like that aspect.
A novella.
He was supposed to guard her and ended up loving her.
Kitty
Samuels has to do more than hide from her father's workers. She has to
accept the ugly truth about the mill he's run. Only with the help of a
stranger will she be able to escape her past and face the future.
He
thought he'd been hired to protect a mindless chit but when Ned Wallace
was forced into action, he had to admit to himself that Miss Samuels is
more than a pretty face. Now he must keep her safe from an angry
mob…and from himself.
Excerpt (slightly spicy)
Excerpt:
The sheet she'd wrapped around herself slid down an inch, revealing
the tops of her breasts. He wished he could forget the memory of
her breast exposed that morning, her pale rose nipple. The images of
those few minutes had haunted him all day.
What the hell was he doing lying in a bedroom with this female? She was
his job. Bad enough he'd failed and she'd ended up injured. He sure as
hell wouldn't be even less professional now.
She wasn't frightened of him anymore. He wondered if she had a clue how
much he wanted her. That would be enough for her to run screaming,
clutching the cloth to her bosom.
In the chair, she licked her full, pink lips.
What would happen if she accepted his touch?
He imagined exchanging just a kiss or two. No one would know any of it.
No one in her circle need ever know their paths had crossed. He was good
enough at his job to guarantee that he'd get her to town without word
getting out—so this afternoon didn't truly exist in her life.
She wasn't sewing. The blasted girl stared back at him avidly, as if she'd never seen anything so fascinating.
"Stop," he croaked.
She froze. "Stop what?"
"You are wearing next to nothing. And…" He trailed off as he realized
how absurd he sounded. "I beg your pardon. I should leave."
But his embarrassment turned to astonishment when she rose to her feet,
walked to the edge of the bed, and stood over him. "It's unfair of you
to berate me when you are stretched out like that with all of your limbs
on display." Her eyes widened and she put her fingers over her mouth as
if she wanted to push the words back in.
He pushed himself up on his elbows. "What?"
She shook her head and looked miserable. He sat up and grabbed her wrist.
"You are offended by my appearance?"
"It disturbs me."
"The scar," he muttered and wondered why he'd ever imagined she would
want him to kiss her. The glittering dark eyes watching him had been
filled with fascination, certainly. Fascinated horror.
"What can you mean?" she asked.
He'd received the hideous mark not so very long ago during a fight to
subdue a confidence man he'd been hired to follow. The scar traveled
most of the left side of his face.
Miss Samuels's silly question pushed him too far. He suspected some sort
of polite young lady idiocy with her question. Let her act polite when
she saw that ruined skin. He shoved back his overlong hair to reveal the
side of his face.
Instead of backing away or admitting that, yes, she found the raw skin
offensive, she leaned down and traced a finger along the raised scar. He
forced himself to stay still and not push her hand away.
No one other than a doctor had touched him since the fight. The woman
Ned had hoped to marry had turned pale when she saw him and she
immediately announced that she could not join her life to a man who
engaged in such hazardous work. The sight of the wound must have driven
her off, for she hadn't waited to discover if he would abandon his
profession.
"What caused it?" Miss Samuels asked at last.
"A knife wound and infection. But come, you said you were disturbed. This must be what you mean."
"It doesn't bother me."
Her eyes met his and he saw she wasn't lying. Oh, no, he saw too much
more. He hadn't imagined that echo of his own desire. The world went
inside out when he understood she indeed looked at him with hunger, not
revulsion.
She straightened. No longer leaning over him, her hands folded in front
of her, she was the picture of decorous, polite femininity, until she
murmured, "I want to kiss you. I can't think of anything else."
"You are a young lady, Miss Samuels." He hoped he sounded cold and disapproving. "You shouldn't speak of such things."
She looked into his eyes. "I know. I never do. Or not often." She backed away from the bed.
He rose and followed her. "So you don't find the sight of me disturbing?"
"Of course I do," she said faintly.
"But you don't mean the scar."
She rubbed a hand over her mouth, as if caressing herself. "No, not the
scar. Good heavens, Mr. Wallace. You seem to think the thing is
deforming or hideous."
"Isn't it?" he muttered. Emily had left him because of it and Ned's
older brother had fallen into a dead faint the first time he'd seen the
wound.
"No. What I meant is, well, even though you have such a mark, I still find you very…disturbing."
It struck him that her definition of disturbing was more interesting than his.
He followed her still as she backed away from him. He'd give the girl a
proper fear of him and with that thought in mind, he pinned her against
the wall now with his hands flat against it on either side of her head.
Her breasts rose and fell quickly. And that sheet. God, so little lay
between her skin and his hands. He looked down at her parted lips.
"You are a fool, you know." He tried to sound casual, but his voice was too ragged.
She raised her eyebrows.
"Alone in a room with a man," he whispered.
"A gentleman."
"I am going to kiss you now. That is not the behavior of a gentleman, is it?"
"You've warned me," she pointed out and slowly tilted her chin, as if presenting her mouth as a gift.
He cupped her face between his hands forcing his fingers to be gentle,
but there was no light brush of lips for him. He wanted to seize as much
from her as he could before she changed her mind.
I'm not sure why I wanted to reread. I like the books but don't love them. They're just what I want though. I'm about to run out of them and am feeling slightly panicky. Need more Sookie!
Flo hates the cover. She has a point.
I'm reading because I can't seem to write. I open a document, glance through it, and then forget I'm supposed to be adding more at the end, or in the middle or wherever. Spring fever, I suppose.
But never mind me. This is about you, now, and your chance to read a novella, because hey, listen! I have a newish book out. Actually it's just a historical novella and it's been out for a while, but I put it up on Amazon. I figured out that I'm allowed to, I think (it's been used as a fundraiser at ARe).
So here it is! Yep, as Flo said, it's a tad difficult to figure out what's going on with the cover. But I sorta like that aspect.
A novella.
He was supposed to guard her and ended up loving her.
Kitty
Samuels has to do more than hide from her father's workers. She has to
accept the ugly truth about the mill he's run. Only with the help of a
stranger will she be able to escape her past and face the future.
He
thought he'd been hired to protect a mindless chit but when Ned Wallace
was forced into action, he had to admit to himself that Miss Samuels is
more than a pretty face. Now he must keep her safe from an angry
mob…and from himself.
Excerpt (slightly spicy)
Excerpt:
The sheet she'd wrapped around herself slid down an inch, revealing
the tops of her breasts. He wished he could forget the memory of
her breast exposed that morning, her pale rose nipple. The images of
those few minutes had haunted him all day.
What the hell was he doing lying in a bedroom with this female? She was
his job. Bad enough he'd failed and she'd ended up injured. He sure as
hell wouldn't be even less professional now.
She wasn't frightened of him anymore. He wondered if she had a clue how
much he wanted her. That would be enough for her to run screaming,
clutching the cloth to her bosom.
In the chair, she licked her full, pink lips.
What would happen if she accepted his touch?
He imagined exchanging just a kiss or two. No one would know any of it.
No one in her circle need ever know their paths had crossed. He was good
enough at his job to guarantee that he'd get her to town without word
getting out—so this afternoon didn't truly exist in her life.
She wasn't sewing. The blasted girl stared back at him avidly, as if she'd never seen anything so fascinating.
"Stop," he croaked.
She froze. "Stop what?"
"You are wearing next to nothing. And…" He trailed off as he realized
how absurd he sounded. "I beg your pardon. I should leave."
But his embarrassment turned to astonishment when she rose to her feet,
walked to the edge of the bed, and stood over him. "It's unfair of you
to berate me when you are stretched out like that with all of your limbs
on display." Her eyes widened and she put her fingers over her mouth as
if she wanted to push the words back in.
He pushed himself up on his elbows. "What?"
She shook her head and looked miserable. He sat up and grabbed her wrist.
"You are offended by my appearance?"
"It disturbs me."
"The scar," he muttered and wondered why he'd ever imagined she would
want him to kiss her. The glittering dark eyes watching him had been
filled with fascination, certainly. Fascinated horror.
"What can you mean?" she asked.
He'd received the hideous mark not so very long ago during a fight to
subdue a confidence man he'd been hired to follow. The scar traveled
most of the left side of his face.
Miss Samuels's silly question pushed him too far. He suspected some sort
of polite young lady idiocy with her question. Let her act polite when
she saw that ruined skin. He shoved back his overlong hair to reveal the
side of his face.
Instead of backing away or admitting that, yes, she found the raw skin
offensive, she leaned down and traced a finger along the raised scar. He
forced himself to stay still and not push her hand away.
No one other than a doctor had touched him since the fight. The woman
Ned had hoped to marry had turned pale when she saw him and she
immediately announced that she could not join her life to a man who
engaged in such hazardous work. The sight of the wound must have driven
her off, for she hadn't waited to discover if he would abandon his
profession.
"What caused it?" Miss Samuels asked at last.
"A knife wound and infection. But come, you said you were disturbed. This must be what you mean."
"It doesn't bother me."
Her eyes met his and he saw she wasn't lying. Oh, no, he saw too much
more. He hadn't imagined that echo of his own desire. The world went
inside out when he understood she indeed looked at him with hunger, not
revulsion.
She straightened. No longer leaning over him, her hands folded in front
of her, she was the picture of decorous, polite femininity, until she
murmured, "I want to kiss you. I can't think of anything else."
"You are a young lady, Miss Samuels." He hoped he sounded cold and disapproving. "You shouldn't speak of such things."
She looked into his eyes. "I know. I never do. Or not often." She backed away from the bed.
He rose and followed her. "So you don't find the sight of me disturbing?"
"Of course I do," she said faintly.
"But you don't mean the scar."
She rubbed a hand over her mouth, as if caressing herself. "No, not the
scar. Good heavens, Mr. Wallace. You seem to think the thing is
deforming or hideous."
"Isn't it?" he muttered. Emily had left him because of it and Ned's
older brother had fallen into a dead faint the first time he'd seen the
wound.
"No. What I meant is, well, even though you have such a mark, I still find you very…disturbing."
It struck him that her definition of disturbing was more interesting than his.
He followed her still as she backed away from him. He'd give the girl a
proper fear of him and with that thought in mind, he pinned her against
the wall now with his hands flat against it on either side of her head.
Her breasts rose and fell quickly. And that sheet. God, so little lay
between her skin and his hands. He looked down at her parted lips.
"You are a fool, you know." He tried to sound casual, but his voice was too ragged.
She raised her eyebrows.
"Alone in a room with a man," he whispered.
"A gentleman."
"I am going to kiss you now. That is not the behavior of a gentleman, is it?"
"You've warned me," she pointed out and slowly tilted her chin, as if presenting her mouth as a gift.
He cupped her face between his hands forcing his fingers to be gentle,
but there was no light brush of lips for him. He wanted to seize as much
from her as he could before she changed her mind.
March 31, 2012
in search of crackers
When I'm sad, I eat chocolate. When I'm happy, I eat chocolate. When I'm nervous about appearing in public, I eat crackers.
Speaking of appearing in public, check out these amazing writers. Wow. I mean simply having one's name next to "Mark Twain." That's fairly amazing. Alfred Uhry? Holy shit. Louis Lapham? We love him in this house. Go Harper's. Okay now it's go Lapham's Quarterly.
Look at those credentials and those accomplishments.
Huh. Who the fuck is this Summer Devon? Oy.
I think I'll go find some crackers.
In other news, I find the fact that it's snowing/slushing a relief. This is freaking NEW ENGLAND. We needed to awake from the good weather dream. The shoe has fallen and we can get on with our lives. Alas for the dead wisteria blossoms on the vine taking over the house, but we knew this was coming. Stupid overeager plant is at least 10 years old--it should have figured this out by now.
Speaking of appearing in public, check out these amazing writers. Wow. I mean simply having one's name next to "Mark Twain." That's fairly amazing. Alfred Uhry? Holy shit. Louis Lapham? We love him in this house. Go Harper's. Okay now it's go Lapham's Quarterly.
Look at those credentials and those accomplishments.
Huh. Who the fuck is this Summer Devon? Oy.
I think I'll go find some crackers.
In other news, I find the fact that it's snowing/slushing a relief. This is freaking NEW ENGLAND. We needed to awake from the good weather dream. The shoe has fallen and we can get on with our lives. Alas for the dead wisteria blossoms on the vine taking over the house, but we knew this was coming. Stupid overeager plant is at least 10 years old--it should have figured this out by now.
March 26, 2012
Amazon Called
Yes. Jody was right! It was plagiarism. The nice thing is that Eric from Amazon is now a close personal friend, as in I know where he lives and he promises it won't take weeks and weeks to figure out next time. If there is a next time.
They got away with about ten dollars this time. Once they get more than $50, I'll push for the money or legal action more than I do. But I've figured out that this chasing thieves (plagiarists and pirates)takes a big bite out of time/creativity/life and I've put a price limit on how much I'll spend on 'em
They got away with about ten dollars this time. Once they get more than $50, I'll push for the money or legal action more than I do. But I've figured out that this chasing thieves (plagiarists and pirates)takes a big bite out of time/creativity/life and I've put a price limit on how much I'll spend on 'em
